


a long way back to the light

by fadeastride



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7490205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeastride/pseuds/fadeastride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The soft focus of those lights is like a time warp, smoothing the creases on Zito’s face. Haren thinks to himself that Zito looks 26 again, all bright and shiny and new. He wonders if <i>he</i> looks 24.</p>
<p>He sure as hell doesn’t feel 24.</p>
<p>These days, he mostly just feels old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a long way back to the light

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in 2013, and then lost the hard drive it was on. It's still not quite what I wanted it to be, but I literally can't look at it anymore or I'm going to lose it.
> 
> Title from "Recovery" by Frank Turner

The offseason is looming in front of him in a way it never has, and Haren feels the way fear snakes through his gut. He’s never gone into an offseason without a team to call his own, and it makes his hands tremble and his breath stutter.

He calls Zito and gets the voicemail, leaves a message laughing nervously and asking if being a free agent is supposed to be this fucking terrifying. 

Zito doesn’t call him back.

He’s not surprised. They’re not friends, haven’t been in years. Zito moved across the bay and signed a contract with numbers that still make Haren dizzy. Then he went and fucked Noah and they stopped talking, after that. 

So he signs with Washington and drags his stuff across the country to a place with more humidity than he knows how to handle. Jess and the kids stay in California, and he feels them like a phantom limb, misses them them so much it makes his ribs ache.

His first start, he gives up six runs and walks off the field with his head down. 

By the end of April, he’s gotten used to early exits and his eyes to the ground.

The Nats head to San Francisco in May. Haren’s phone rings not long after the team checks into the hotel. He almost lets it go to voicemail before checking the caller ID.

It’s Zito.

He answers it.

“Danny, you handsome bastard. Rumor has it you’re in my neighborhood.”

Haren sits on the foot of his hotel bed.

“I am.”

“Let me take you out.”

It’s against his better judgement, really, but his better judgement has never been a match for one Barry Zito.

It’s not far to the address Zito texts him, so he walks there, focuses on breathing in cool air to settle his nerves.

Zito greets him warmly, wide smile and a hug that feels like 2005 all over again.

They slide into some hole in the wall they used to haunt back in the glory days, and everything’s just the way they remember. It’s the same peeled-paint walls lined with cracked red vinyl booths, the same dim lights swinging from the ceiling.

The soft focus of those lights is like a time warp, smoothing the creases on Zito’s face. Haren thinks to himself that Zito looks 26 again, all bright and shiny and new. He wonders if _he_ looks 24.

He sure as hell doesn’t feel 24.

These days, he mostly just feels old.

“How’d you deal with it?”

“How did I deal with what?” Zito feigns ignorance.

“Fuck you, man. Don’t make me say it.”

Zito’s mouth curves at one side. “You mean, how did I deal with suddenly being fucking terrible?” He pauses for a moment, thoughtful. “Well, I drank a lot. And I slept around a lot. And I made a lot of other really bad decisions. You’re smarter than I am, though.”

Haren can’t help but laugh a little. “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

“I’m serious. You’ll be fine, dude. You’ll figure it out and turn it around and I’ll get to kick your ass in the NLCS.”

Haren’s voice is small, so small when he asks, “But what if that doesn’t happen.”

The question weighs heavy in the silence before Zito answers softly. “Then you go out there every five days and you pray.”

Haren feels his stomach lurch and he’s sure he’s gonna be sick.

The bathroom’s dirtier than he remembers, but he’s also never been in it this sober before. Zito’s standing behind him, fingers pulling his hair back from his face.

“Jesus,” Zito says. “I wouldn’t have come if I’d known I was gonna have to hold your hair back like some lightweight high school chick.

“Fuck off, Barry. How many times have I done this for you?”

“I was younger then. Stupider.” Zito smiles fondly. “And besides, as I recall, you were rewarded handsomely.”

Haren drags the back of his hand across his mouth. “Yeah, rewarded with sloppy-drunk blowjobs and you passing out in my room and keeping me awake with your goddamn snoring.”

“Is _that_ how you remember it?” Zito asks with mock hurt in his voice. “Because those were some of the best sloppy-drunk blowjobs I’ve ever given, and they were given with _love_ , you ungrateful shit.”

Even when it feels like his heart is in his knees, Zito’s always had this way of making Haren laugh in spite of himself.

They get back to find food on their table, even if Haren doesn’t want to eat it anymore. He shovels a few fries into his mouth, watches Zito cut his hamburger in half before taking a bite.

“So,” Haren says. “Does it get easier?”

Zito chews thoughtfully. “Not really. It kind of keeps sucking.”

Haren nods. “Good to know.”

They make small talk through the rest of the meal, catch up on seven years worth of limited communication, and Zito squeezes Haren’s arm and promises to keep in touch when they part ways.

Haren knows better, but he nods anyway.

In June, the Nats put Haren on the DL. The official press statement is that it’s for his shoulder, but his shoulder’s fine. It’s everything else that’s fucked.

His ERA is over 6.00. His hip aches like a motherfucker. He texts his wife after every start, says, “I don’t want to do this anymore,” and lets her talk him down.

The thought of not playing anymore makes him sick, sets things rolling in his stomach until he's gasping for air. 

Still, the starts are just as bad. He drinks the better part of a bottle of wine the night before each one, washes down the pills that keep his stomach from emptying itself, doesn't answer his phone. 

It’s ugly. It’s ugly and he hates every second of it. 

And the DL stint is embarrassing. He texts Zito, because Zito’s been here, sitting on the DL for no other reason than he can’t pitch for shit. Zito takes three days to text back.

_I’d say it gets better but. I literally sold my soul to a witch for last season._

Haren snorts. 

He spends his days working out, Skyping his kids, and texting Zito. Zito doesn’t always respond, but Haren texts him anyways, just little things he sees that make him think of Zito: the eggs covered in slices of avocado; the woman doing yoga in the park down the street from his condo; the guitar someone left in the gym.

By the time he’s cleared to play again, he and Zito have struck up something akin to a rhythm. It’s not how it used to be, not even close, but it’s almost like they’re friends again. On their way to it, maybe.

As July fades into August, Haren gets better. Not good, but better. He drags his ERA under six, gives up fewer long balls, racks up a few more wins.

He calls Zito when the Giants land in D.C. 

“Barry,” he says. “I hear you’re in my neighborhood. Let me take you out.”

He can hear Zito’s smile when he says, “You got it, asshole.”

Zito’s wearing massive mirrored shades and a pair of beat-up flip flops, toes hanging off the curb, when he pulls up outside the hotel.

“My man,” Zito says as he climbs into the passenger seat. “This is still the sweetest ride.”

“Like you can’t afford one.”

Zito waves his hand dismissively. “Irrelevant. Now, feed me.”

Haren drives them to a little pizza joint that makes a stellar pie, and Zito talks the whole way about how the hotel they’re staying in is totally haunted.

He quiets down once they get inside, too busy helping Haren destroy a cheesy monstrosity they can never tell their nutritionists about. He hooks his ankle around Haren’s and leaves it there while they eat. 

“You’re doing better,” Zito says finally.

Haren nods and doesn’t say anything because he knows Zito’s ERA has been climbing ever skyward, that the Giants have him coming out of the pen now.

“I’m thinking about retiring once the season’s over.” Zito says it plainly, like he’s not talking about his fucking career.

“Jesus, really?”

Zito shrugs. “It’s only gonna get worse. I’ve got a nice plaque with my name on it and a couple of rings. Hell, I even earned one of them. That’s all I can ask for, you know?”

He takes a sip of his beer. “Besides. Amber wants kids, and she wants them now. I'm down to be a dad, but I want to be there to watch them grow up.”

Haren flinches and thinks about all the things he's missed while away from home. He knows Zito doesn't mean for it to hurt, but it does. 

There's a lot of things Zito’s done to Haren that he never meant to hurt. It's not something Haren’s used to, but it’s something he's come to accept. 

Haren shakes his head. “I don’t know, man. It's all gone to shit, but it's all I know. And I don't know how to give it up.”

Zito reaches across the table, loops his fingers around Haren’s wrist. “You'll figure out what you need. You gotta take care of yourself first, and you'll figure it out.”

It's heavy, and Haren lets it sit there for a minute before meeting Zito’s eyes. 

“Wanna go back to my place?”

Zito doesn't even hesitate. “Absolutely.”

His place is nearby but the drive still feels like forever with Zito silent beside him. 

“You ok?” he asks finally. 

Zito glances at him before looking back at the road. “It's been a long fucking time.”

“Almost a decade.”

“We're getting old, Danny. We're old men.”

“We are,” Haren agrees. 

When they get to Haren’s place, Zito lingers in the doorway.

“Hey,” he says. “I just, uh. Wanted to apologize. About Noah. If I'd known, I wouldn't have done it.”

“I forgave you a long time ago. I just couldn't bring myself to tell you.”

Zito just grins and shakes his head. “We never were good at talking shit out.”

Haren curls his fingers into Zito’s belt loops. “We're talking now.”

“Yeah, but I don't wanna talk now,” Zito says and leans in to take Haren’s lip between his teeth. 

The bedroom is spartan as all hell and Haren might find it in himself to be embarrassed if Zito weren't currently working his belt open. 

He gets Zito on the bed, leaves their pants in a heap on the floor. 

“When was the last time we did this sober?” Zito asks. 

“Did we ever?”

“Fair enough.”

Zito’s always talked too much and Haren kisses him just to shut him up. Their legs tangle together and Zito pushes his hips up, insistent without being needy. 

“C’mere,” Haren mutters, tugging Zito up until they're both on their knees. “Just-”

He reaches over to riffle through his nightstand, drips some lube into his hand. 

“Okay, now, okay-,” he says and wraps his hand around them both. 

Zito slides his hand around to grab at Haren’s ass, urging his hips forward. They find a rhythm and settle into it.

He remembers being young and all this being frantic, desperate. They're a long way from that now, everything languid, as though slowing it down could make it last in a way these things never do. 

Fingertips dig into Haren’s hips, hard enough to bruise. Zito’s panting, too far gone to care about the hair falling in his eyes or the sweat on his brow. 

He's beautiful, always has been, but the lines around his eyes are deeper now. He looks tired, a little used up, and Haren presses a kiss to his forehead because he gets it now, why Zito does the things he does. 

Zito never expected to make it this far, to ride the wave this long, so he never saved any part of himself for the way back. He gave himself to everything right at the start, and then had to make due with what was left.

Haren kisses him hard when he comes, swallows down the noises he hasn’t tasted in years, and doesn’t think about the mess they’ve made.

They’ve made worse messes, worse beds to lie in. 

It’s quiet, after, as they find their clothes and make their way back to Zito’s hotel.

It’s not until the Giants are back in San Francisco that Haren hears from him again.

_It was good to see you, Danny._

Haren’s not sure if it’s meant to be a goodbye or a hello.

He’s not sure if it matters.

Zito’s been humming under his skin for so long now, even in the silent years stretched out behind them, and he’s always going to be there.

He’ll cycle back through in another seven years and Haren’ll let him in without question.

It’s just what they do.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm embarrassing [here](http://fadeastride.tumblr.com) on a daily basis.


End file.
